“I would rather fight with him than you,” said the would-be belligerent, “but before he comes, if you would like to have your neck broken——”
Satisfied that this business had gone far enough, Adam strode into the tap-room, where the jovial spirits had congregated.
“My friends,” he interrupted, “you can put your necks to better purpose by pouring something down them. Landlord, attend my guests. Pike——”
But the pirate-exterminator had fled, first edging to the door, at the appearance of his chief, and then clattering up the stairs to the rooms above with a noise like cavalry in full retreat.
“But if you would like to fight,” started the accommodating manikin, still in process of baring his drum-stick arms, “why, Mr. Sachem——” but he was not permitted to finish.
“Leave off the gab,” said a burly sailor. Clapping his private tankard—a thing of enormous dimensions—fairly over the little head of the challenger, he snuffed him completely and suddenly lifted him bodily to the top of the bar, amid the guffaws of the entire company.
Rust lost no time in arousing Halberd, whom he herded to the apartments aloft with brief ceremony.
Wainsworth, who had been sitting up in his room, writing letters while he waited for Adam’s return, now heard his friend coming and opened his door to bid him welcome. With another big hand-shake, and a smile over their recent mis-encounter, the two went into the lighted apartment, Wainsworth closing the door behind him.
“It’s a wonder you find me anything more than a small heap of ashes,” said Wainsworth, “for I have fairly burned and smoked with my eagerness to see you back.”
“I can smell the smoke,” said Adam. “How very like tobacco it is. And now that I am here I presume you are quite put out.”